Leroux Got It Wrong
by Carlotta
Summary: We've all debated Leroux's facts. This story has Carlotta writing her own version to set right the events. After all, she was there. He wasn't. This mixes Leroux, the ALW musical and the ALW movie together. UPDATED May 18: Added Chapter 8
1. Chapter 1

_What drivel_, she thought as she tossed the book aside. _The author couldn't get a story right to save his life. Yes, he started out with the basic event, but…_

The old woman sat back in her chair and her her coffee, silently fuming. The minute her friend in Paris had sent the book, she had a feeling the real story would have been lost by the author. _That Leroux couldn't write a "true crime" novel to save his life. How could he focus so much on Christine,Raoul and that Persian man, totally ignoring the real events surrounding that Phantom at the Palais Garnier?_

Carlotta Guidicelli looked around her home, her blue eyes settling on a photograph of her past – a photograph of a younger version of herself, back when she was prinicple soprano of the Paris Opera. She wished the picture showed the colour of her hair, it had turned grey in the intervening years and she swore not one of her portrait artists had ever gotten the colour quite right.

Her living room was full of things from her past – books, stacks of old letters, photographs… Here eyes finally settled on a picture of a young woman that was displayed on the piano. She was, according to popular convention, quite beautiful, and in her mid-twenties. Carlotta stood up and walked over to the picture, touching it tenderly. If Leroux's version of events became the "official" one, people like Carlotta and her tagedy would be forgotten from time.

She couldn't allow that to happen.

Heaving a sigh, she walked to her writing table, sat down, and began to write.


	2. Chapter 2

_1880. The Glory days of the Paris Opera House._

It was the first day of rehearsal for the tenor Ubaldo Piangi. He'd left his native Italy to take the position of principal tenor at the opera house. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he walked through the entrance and was immediately overwhelmed. There were people everywhere speaking French so fast that he could barely make out a word.

"M'seiur? M'seiur, can I help you?" He was so overwhelmed with the melee that Ubaldo barely heard the older man next to him. But finally! Someone who could direct him to the manager's office!

"Ah… yes. I am searching to find the office of the manager. I am the new tenor. Ubaldo Piangi," he replied promptly while extending his hand and smiling. The Italian hoped his French was understandable and hadn't insulted the man's mother instead.

The old man nodded and motioned for the tenor to follow him. Ubaldo was taken down a maze of corridors and passed hordes of workers carrying set pieces, washwomen carrying buckets and mops, wardrobe mistresses carrying costumes in a dazzling array of colours, masses of thin, lithe ballet girls… It seemed as if all of Paris worked at the opera.

Finally they came to a stop at a large wooden door.

"Here, the manager's office," the old man said and abruptly walked away, leaving Ubaldo by himself in the hallway guessing if he should knock or wait for admittance. Just as he was raising his hand to knock on the door, it opened and a small, thin man with thick spectacles appeared in the doorway.

Ubaldo immediately recognized him as M. Remy, the assistant to M. Lefevre, the manager of the Paris Opera House. M. Remy looked startled at seeing an unexpected person in the doorwat and Ubaldo could hear a woman's voice shouting inside the office.

"Ah! Signor Piangi! I am not sure this is a good time…" Remy's voice trailed off as he glanced over his shoulder at the quarrel he had just attempted to escape.

Ubaldo opened his mouth to reply, but by the time he had formed a reply in French, Lefevre walked toward Remy. "Who's at the door, Remy? Now's not the time to be disturbed when our beautiful soprano is so upset," the manager said brusquely.

_Ah, soprano. That explains the shouting. Some of them could be so spiled and self-absorbed._ Ubaldo finally caughter sight of the manager at the door and was again opening his mouth to begin a sentence when Lefevre began talking again.

"Oh! Signor Piangi! Our new tenor!" With that, the woman's shouting from within the room ceased. Lefevre pulled the door open, shoving Remy aside, and pulled Ubaldo into the room and towards the woman who had been shouting moments earlier.

The woman. She was beautiful. Ubaldo couldn't take his eyes off of her. Bright red hair, but not that ugly crass red colour that made you think the hair would be like straw. He looked into her eyes and saw the two most beautiful blue oceans looking back at him. It took him a moment to even notice the clothes she was wearing – a beautiful dress of satin and lace in a dark blue colour that set off the colour of her hair and eyes perfectly.

In a word, Ubaldo Piangi was awestruck.

Lefevre had guided him over to the reigning diva and took the diva's hand. "Signora Guidicelli, this is the new tenor that I have been trying to tell you about, Signor Ubaldo Piangi."

Ubaldo shook himself out of his reverie and kissed the woman's hand. "It is a pleasure, Signora. I have not had the pleasure of seeing you perform, but tales of your talent reach us in Milan. It was one of the reasons I accepted this position. The soprano in Milan seemed to think that louder was better and had no concept of pianissimo."

With that, Carlotta laughed. Lefevre and Remy smiled from the relief that she wasn't yelling anymore. Maybe the new tenor was all she needed to get out of their hair for a little while. "Perhaps you should both have some coffee and get to know one another? After all, you will be working together closely…" Lefevre suggested.

_Yes, _Ubaldo thought,_ that was a very good suggestion._


	3. Chapter 3

She sat across from him in the café and studied him closely. The new tenor was a little older than her and fashionably dressed in a light grey suit. His face was kind and showed that he was a bit overwhelmed in the cacophony of French voices from the street. He had the palest blue eyes and reddish-brown hair.

He also looked incredibly nervous.

"So tell me," Carlotta began as the waiter filled their cups with coffee. "How did you end up in Paris?"

Ubaldo paused a moment to consider his response. Here was someone he didn't know and could possibly make his tenure in Paris very short if he started off on the wrong foot. He had to make sure this discussion went well. "I was singing in Milan, one of two principle tenors who played opposite a woman whose voice didn't quite merit her the position. M. Lefrevre saw me performe one night and said he was having trouble with his tenor at the Paris Opera. I was offered the job and took it knowing that a woman who deserved the title of principle soprano worked there. I also accepted it so I could be the only principle tenor." After his explanation was complete, he sighed and hoped his explanation would be satisfactory for the diva.

Carlotta's hand toyed with a spoon that laid on the table. She was trying to figure out the man who sat opposite her. Would she be able to control him? Or would he be yet another tenor who would soon resent the amount of power the principle soprano could wield – and grow to resent it?

"And what do you think of Paris so far?"

Ubaldo didn't need to think about the answer to this question very long. "The language is harder to speak than I thought it would be."

With that, Carlotta let a laugh escape from her lips. Not one of the fake laughs she used on her patrons or admirers when they made an attempt at humour, but a true laugh that came from truly being entertained by his comment.

When she was done laughing, she placed one of her hands on Ubaldo's and looked into his eyes. "Truth be told," she began, "I felt the same way when I first came here. But the language does become easier as time goes on." She paused, giving the tenor a sly smile. "Although, I must admit, it is nice being able to converse in my native language with someone who actually knows how to speak it and not just thinks they can!"

But Ubaldo barely heard a word of what she said. He was too engrossed in the feeling of her hand on top of his.


	4. Chapter 4

Ubaldo soon came to realise that Carlotta Guidicelli had many admirers and patrons. He also came to realize that, like any other principal soprano, she enjoyed being the center of attention. If she felt she wasn't getting the proper amount of attention, she took it as a personal slight and pouted. Or threw tantrums. Or screamed. All in all, normal behaviour for a diva.

But one evening, after Marquis Vendome, one of her usual patrons, didn't arrive at her dressing room following a persomance as promised, Ubaldo found her shouting at her dresser.

"Bella! Why such words? That Vendome has done nothing for you the past few years. Why do you act in such a way? He is not worth it!" Ubaldo said as he moved her toward the divan, trying to calm her down. "You know you are the famous La Carlotta. Remember the beautiful music we made together tonight? You were magnificent. I would be half the singer I am today without you." It was true – the first time they had sung together, Ubaldo was in disbelief. He had never heard two voices blend so perfectly together. It was as if fate itself brought him to Paris to sing with her. Well, that's what Ubaldo believed, anyway.

Carlotta muttered something from behind her handkerchief. Ubaldo couldn't quite make out what she said, but it didn't really matter. He knew his job at times such as these: appease La Carlotta at all costs and keep your job. That was the job of every tenor before him and was most likely the job of every principal tenor at every opera house in the world. Of course, he could simply disappear whenever she had fits like this, but that would only stave off the inevitable. Really, the only good course of action for a principal tenor was to make sure the principal soprano was happy at all times.

For Ubaldo, he didn't mind this job as much as he had as the principal tenor in Milan. At least here, he had started to fall for Carlotta and the words he spoke to make her feel better came from his heart and weren't made up.

After what seemed an eternity to Ubaldo, Carlotta began to calm down and stopped crying. He left her sitting on the divan and crossed the heavily decorated dressing room to her wash basin. Picking up a cloth, he wetted it and returned to her side, cleaning the marks on her face where the makeup she had neglected to remove had started to run down her face and neck. Silently, she took the cloth from his hand and walked to her dressing table, sat down, and finished removing her makeup while Ubaldo watched her.

Even after a tantrum, she was beautiful, he thought, and such a contradiction in temperment. Strong enough to yell at anyone when threatened, but scared of her own abilities to the point that she needed constant affirmations from others. Perhaps it was the roles he'd played opposite her brought these feelings out faster. After all, he'd already pledged his undying love to her on stage, kissed her countless times (how Ubaldo loved being able to rehearse those scenes!), and even killed her while in a jealous rage in _Carmen_.

A knock at the door ended his reverie. Carlotta answered the door, admitting the Comte de Renard. Ubaldo let out a sigh. Thierry Renard was Carlotta's last lover. Ubaldo wasn't sure if the two were still seeing each other, or if either had moved on to someone else. He did know that Renard had married a year or two ago, and that's when the relationship had cooled somewhat. He wasn't about to ask her what their status was – it wasn't any of his business.

At least not yet.


	5. Chapter 5

Carlotta heard rumours about a ghost haunting the opera house. She'd heard about them ever since she'd arrived in Paris. "Watch out of the opera ghost will get you" was a common saying to any mis-behaving employee – and it usually worked. Any little thing that went wrong at the opera was met with the ever-popular "he's here!" or "it was

the opera ghost!", thus absolving the real trickster from any responsibility for their crime.

And like most of those in the theatre profession, Carlotta wasn't immune to the trappings of superstition. She would always enter the stage area with her right foot going over the threshhold first. But she didn't quite believe in this particular ghost. There were enough people in the building and enough hiding places, so she figured that most everything had a more earthly – and human – explanation.

The principal soprano, after all, had more things to worry about than little pranks. There were her patrons, the never- ending flow of letters from her admirers, the daily vocal exercises designed to keep her voice in perfect shape, fending off potential rivals for her position, and, of course, keeping up with the latest fashions. The prima donna of the Paris

Opera was expected to always be at the height of fashion. There simply wasn't time to worry about a prankster ghost.

So when rumours reached her ears of the ghost demanding a box left empty and a salary, she didn't believe it. She didn't know why M. Lefevre obeyed the ghost, but as long as she got paid, she didn't much care.


	6. Chapter 6

Ubaldo's first season in Paris passed quickly. He quickly fell into a pattern with Carlotta where they would rehearse their roles together, either in an open rehearsal room at the opera house or (as Ubaldo preferred) at Carlotta's house. In between morning and afternoon rehearsals, they would go to a nearby café together for lunch, unless Carlotta was otherwise engaged. And on performance days, they would go out with a few patrons and other singers after the performance for dinner once in a while or he would simply escort her home.

His favourite times were the ones he spent alone with her. He learned that her parents had expected her to become a wife and mother and she rebelled, leaving home at age 16. He admired her courage at such a young age, going out on her own without money or even a place to live. He told her of his family, of his younger sister and her children, of growing up in Rome, his life in the opera there and then later in Milan. Of the pair, he'd had the easier life in opera – he'd simply paid his dues and risen the ranks. Carlotta, on the other hand, had to use all the connections and loves she had in order to get simple singing lessons, and then later, auditions and positions.

He'd had many chances to observe her with Comte Renard. It was he who had given her the final piece to her career – the audition that landed her the position of principal soprano. And he knew that, like many upper-class women, the Comtess Renard tolerated the singer's relationship with her husband. (After all, Carlotta had been there first, Ubaldo imagined Renard explaining to his wife.) But after observing Carlotta and Renard, he didn't see them behaving in a way that suggested the physical part of their relationship was still in tact.

In fact, Carlotta was beginning to make overtures to Ubaldo.

When Ubaldo had decided he would like to get to know Carlotta better, he had decided to play it safe and wait to see what Carlotta would do, and then use her actions as a basis for his own. The time at the café when they first met and she touched his hand was the first indication that there could be an attraction on her part, but he didn't know if it could simply be that she was the type of person who liked to touch people's hands to remain in physical contact during a conversation.

But the little signals he was getting started adding up. She'd take his arm when they walked, but didn't generally take any other man's arm. She would touch Ubaldo's hand during conversations, but not during conversations with anyone else. When Ubaldo would have difficulty with a phrase or note, she would stick up for him, saying the composer or conductor was being picky or flat-out wrong.

But what was probably the biggest sign was she had begun inviting him in to her home after rehearsals and performances. Ubaldo enjoyed these times with her, sitting near her, usually with a glass of wine, while they talked about the day's events or about nothing at all. Habitually, Carlotta would make some excuse and remove her shoes, curling her feet under her. It was here, without the pressures of being under the public eye and the pressures to have the perfect voice, the perfect visage, that she seemed truly relaxed. She smiled more, laughed more, and opened up more. She told him her hopes, her dreams and her fears.

Her fears, like any other singers, were of losing her voice. But the pressures on her were a bit greater. Newspapers had always went on about her golden, crystal throat. How her voice had never been known to be off key. How she could sing any part with equal technical perfection. Consequently, Carlotta was terrified of making one wrong move. She babied her voice to the point of being obsessive about the slightest draft or sniffle. Doctors knew to come rushing to her side at the slightest tickle.

But she knew the inevitable. One day, her voice would fail her. It would crack. Her range would dwindle. She would no longer be able to portray any role she wished. She would eventually be pushed out by a younger, more vocally proficient soprano and that would be it. Her career would be over. She would be forgotten, simply a memory. And then what? Oh, she could teach others to sing, but it would simply be an acknowledgement that she herself could no longer sing. She could marry, but by then, she would no longer be young…

Carlotta divulged all of this to Ubaldo one evening over a glass of wine after an especially trying rehearsal. He was surprised to have her confide such details to him, but pleased that she trusted him so. When she was done talking, tears running down her face, he'd simply wrapped his arms around her, promising that he'd protect her from the cruel world that they had been fated to work in. Her hands were folded in between both of them and Ubaldo soon felt them grabbing onto the buttons of his shirt, holding onto what felt like dear life (and grabbing some chest hairs at the same time). He held her tightly and rubbed her back until her tears subsided.

She pulled back and looked at him, her blue eyes meeting his. "What did I do to deserve someone so kind?" she asked him.

Ubaldo decided it was time to stop waiting for her to act. He leaned in and kissed her on the lips.


	7. Chapter 7

Carlotta had grown comfortable around Ubaldo. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she trusted him. She didn't trust many people with her innermost thoughts, after all, someone could always come back and use that information against her. But with Ubaldo, she truly believed he had her best interest at heart and would keep safe whatever secrets she entrusted him with.

In her past, she'd used men as much as they'd used her. One had given her a bit of money and eventually brought her to Paris. Another had gotten her her first formal voice lessons. Each one seemed to introduce her to her next level of her career. In return, the men received her companionship, and sometimes her body. It wasn't that she was a whore or gave herself to anyone who asked, but she wasn't a virgin by any means and knew the ways of the world.

But Ubaldo didn't ask that of her. Many men just assumed that because she worked in the theatre, she would be available or amenable to the suggestion at the end of the night. Ubaldo, on the other hand, was patient and content enough just to sit talking with her. It was a refreshing experience. So refreshing, in fact, that she found herself opening up to him and divulging things she shared to no one. She didn't have many close friends and wasn't extremely close to her family, but she soon started telling Ubaldo about her fears of losing her voice or her public. She sought solace in his arms and, for the first time in a long time, felt as though everything would work out.

Without even realising it, she found herself growing closer to Ubaldo. Her relationship with Comte Renard had cooled to a deep friendship ever since his marriage and she hadn't found anyone to replace him as a lover. She hadn't really felt the need to, either, as she'd gained so many admirers as principal soprano. Why stick to one person when there were so many vying for her attention and aligning with one person could possibly alienate the rest?

The summer between Ubaldo's first and second season at the Paris Opera found Carlotta and Ubaldo spending many lazy afternoons together, just enjoying each other's company. Interspersed with the walks in various parks, carriage rides, and lunches at cafes, they also worked on their roles for the upcoming season.

During this time, they also grew physically closer. She didn't know who started it, but they were rehearsing a scene where the tenor and soprano needed to kiss. It started out as a simple rehearsal of the scene, but the kiss grew more and more passionate. Ubaldo's hands soon went into Carlotta's hair, pulling the hairpins out so it would flow free about her shoulders. She did remember that he had started out gentle, as if afraid to hurt her, until she had to tell him it was all right and that allowed him to show his true hunger for her. From there, Carlotta couldn't remember the details, but the end result was the maid knocking on her bedroom door asking if she should prepare dinner for the two of them.

And thus, Carlotta Guidicelli and Ubaldo Piangi became an unofficial couple.


	8. Chapter 8

The first rehearsal of the season was always exciting – and scary. Exciting for the chance to again practice one's art. Scary because the new graduates of the Conservatoire who had received positions at the opera, in addition to those who simply auditioned, joined the opera company. One never knew if there would be a potential rival in the group.

And for a principal soprano, she needed to show each and every potential rival their place as quickly as possible.

Carlotta and Ubaldo walked into that first rehearsal confidently, she on his arm, and took their seats in the center of the first row. The conductor began rehearsal and the chorus started their first song. Carlotta didn't expect much of anything, after all, it was the first rehearsal, but she didn't expect _that_.

It was a squaking. Well, maybe the sound of a tea kettle.

"She sounds like a rusty hinge," Ubaldo whispered into her ear as he leaned over. Carlotta simply rolled her eyes. This wouldn't do. How could someone who made such a sound end up in the chorus of the Paris Opera? It couldn't be possible!

The conductor stopped the chorus to make the altos sing their part. _No_, she thought, _that wasn't an alto you blasted idiot! It's someone pretending to be a soprano! Look at the sopranos!_

But the conductor didn't pay any attention to Carlotta's body language and was satisfied with what he heard from the altos. Rehearsal continued.

After what seemed to be an eternity to Carlotta (but was probably only ten minutes to the rest of the world), she'd had enough. The great diva slammed her feet to the floor and stood up, score cascading to the floor. "For God's sake, that blasted noise is in the soprano section! Would you please fix it before I go out of my mind or lose my hearing!"

No one reacted except for Ubaldo, who scrambled to the floor to pick up her discarded score. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the conductor to react one way or another. Carlotta simply stared at the conductor, daring him to challenge her.

He didn't. It wasn't worth challenging her on this day and beginning the season on the wrong foot. He asked the sopranos to run through their notes while Carlotta sat down, taking her score from the tenor who, in turn, took her hand to help calm her. Eventually, the offending soprano was found, one Christine Daae, who had just graduated from the Conservatoire.

At least there was one person Carlotta didn't have to worry about challenging her for principal soprano. There was no way that child could sing.


End file.
